The Boy Who Did Become King
by Sarah1281
Summary: From the stables, to the Chantry, to the Grey Wardens, to the throne. Alistair's faced it all with his usual levity and attempt to fulfill his sometimes conflicting duties and he'll continue to do so. A series of Alistair-related BSN prompts.
1. Never Should Have Left the Chantry

Prompt: "There were times Alistair almost wished he'd never left the Chantry."

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age.

There were times Alistair almost wished he'd never left the Chantry. Today, the day he had finally had his coronation, was one of those times. He had honestly never expected this day would come…well, not until he had seen a worrying expression on a certain Warden's (who he was pointedly not thinking about) face after he'd finally confessed to his parentage. Still, he had almost managed to convince himself that she, not really being a citizen of Ferelden, was seeing possibilities where there wasn't any when Arl Eamon had awoken and fallen in love with the idea of making him king as well. The Warden thinking he should be king, Alistair could sort of understand even if he disagreed. Eamon, though? The man who had spent years carefully making sure that Alistair never accidentally got any ideas about not being a commoner? Honestly, Alistair was a little concerned that there might have been something in those Ashes.

Alistair had slowly – VERY slowly – come around to the idea that he should take the throne because Eamon had pointed out that if he didn't then they would have no choice but to all join Loghain and Alistair was willing to go a great deal further than just taking the throne to avoid _that_ fate. He still thought he lacked the proper training to be a good king but at least he was willing to learn and to take the advice of those who knew better while he was still figuring things out and it wasn't even like there was another option…until Anora had showed up. Despite the fact that he and the Warden had had to go to Fort Drakon to protect Anora and break themselves out, the queen and the Warden had really hit it off and before he knew it, he was being asked to marry the spawn of Loghain. There were worse things than being asked to marry Anora, he supposed. Being asked to marry Morrigan or Loghain himself, for example. Still, Anora was definitely up there on his 'DO NOT WANT' list of potential brides. Still, the Warden had made a compelling case about it being what was best for Ferelden and his duty. Besides, anything to ensure that they could take Loghain down, right?

The Landsmeet…he had never attended one before but would now have to sit through at least one a year every year for the rest of his life. If they were anything like his first one then he doubted his sanity would survive long enough to allow him to rule for even as long as Cailan had. It had started off well enough, better than he'd expected really, and that would make him nervous at future Landsmeet even when things were going well. The Warden's arguments and evidence were dominating Loghain's and the nobles (except what's-his-name, Ceorlic) were all hanging onto her every word. Loghain tried to seize upon his missing daughter to gain back some footing but then Anora calmly came into the Landsmeet Chambers and supported them. Things were going very well. A vote was called and it was near-unanimous – Ceorlic again – in favor of them. Unfortunately, though perhaps unsurprisingly, Loghain refused to accept the vote and called for an all-out brawl. To Alistair's shock, the Teyrn actually agreed to a duel instead, apparently still seeking to pretend to have **some** honor. Alistair wanted to be the one to fight Loghain almost more than anything but the Warden promptly volunteered herself instead.

It was a tense fight. Loghain might have been evil but he could certainly fight and he nearly won on a number of occasions. Finally, the Warden tripped him and bashed him over the head with her sword. It was hardly an inspiring victory, but at least she won. Alistair had been so relieved he could have cried. Everything he had been working for since Duncan had died was about to pay off in this one moment. Only…it hadn't. Riordan, clearly still addled from his months-long torture and not fully comprehending the magnitude of Loghain's crimes, suggested sparing Loghain. No, not just sparing him. Riordan called to make him a _Grey Warden_. To Alistair's eternal horror, the Warden agreed with him and no amount of argument on his part would convince her otherwise. What was he supposed to have done? He still wasn't quite sure what the answer to that was but what he did end up doing was declaring that he was leaving the Grey Wardens. In order to appease his sense of duty that was screaming at him that leaving was wrong even though letting Loghain in after what he'd done was equally wrong if not more so, Alistair announced that he was leaving the Wardens to marry Anora and be Ferelden's king. That was a duty he had, too, right? And unlike being a Grey Warden, it was one that only he seemed able to fulfill. The Warden and Anora hadn't seemed very impressed with this announcement and quickly moved on but Alistair hadn't paid much attention to that, so busy wondering where it had all gone wrong. They'd _had_ Loghain and now they were just going to let him get away with everything? Anora, he could understand since it was her father and she was a lot like him if not as evil. The Warden, though? How could she.

Alistair glanced over at the Warden. She was talking animatedly with Eamon, no doubt very pleased with herself. And why wouldn't she be? She was a hero now, the Hero of Ferelden. At least Loghain hadn't managed to grab that title as well even if he hadn't had the courtesy to die during the Blight which the Orlesian Wardens who had already contacted him found to be very suspicious. Loghain himself was glowering at Alistair as if _he_ were the one who couldn't believe he were forced to put up with Alistair! This coronation reception had better not go on for too long or he couldn't guarantee that Loghain would manage to leave this room alive. As Loghain was now being regarded as an even _bigger_ hero than before for helping to end the Blight, if Alistair did give into temptation in front of all these people then he knew that Anora would ensure that he could kiss the kingship and maybe even his life goodbye. Speaking of Anora, she was currently peering suspiciously at him. Perhaps she could tell that he was seriously debating with himself whether it would be worth it?

At least there were some people coming up to him and ensuring that he wasn't focused solely on that evil, evil man he was going to be related to in six months (he made a mental note that if he was going to give into temptation then he'd better do it before the wedding to avoid that). Unfortunately, the distractions weren't always the most pleasant. Oghren had stumbled up to him, far drunker than usual, demanding more ale and Sten was right behind him complaining about the lack of cake. What did he look like, a caterer? He would have thought a king would have gotten more respect. Eamon had informed him that he didn't have to worry because he was planning on becoming the new royal chancellor. Alistair had thought it was odd that Eamon was just deciding that instead of having him appoint Eamon (for he knew Anora never would. The fact Anora and Loghain hated Eamon really increased his affection for his old guardian) but it wasn't like he would have picked anyone else anyway.

Leliana had wanted to perform some of her ballad about the final battle for him and, as Leliana was a friend, he had put up with as much of the Loghain-praising as was humanly possible before he cut her off as politely as he could. Lanaya came up to complain that some of the drunken revelers wouldn't stop making lewd comments about her because she was an elf and while Alistair did feel terrible about that, he didn't quite know what he was supposed to do about that. Irving had taken the opportunity to try to influence him on the new mage tower that needed to be constructed. Fergus Cousland had expressed his outrage that Howe had been allowed to get away with what he had for so long and had been the Teyrn of Highever for months and while Alistair had sympathized with him, he had also taken great pleasure in directing the new Teyrn's complaints to his lucky betrothed. That odious dwarf, Vartag Gavorn, had stopped by to 'remind' him that Bhelen could be a valuable friend and he was fairly certain that Vartag had both insulted him and threatened him but he wasn't quite sure how. Orzammar politics gave him a headache anyway. Zevran had offered his assassination services to the Crown and Alistair had promised to think about it. The assassin had turned down a job to assassinate Loghain once before but maybe now that he was so close by and no longer regent he would change his mind?

Something to consider.

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	2. Everyone Has A Darker Side

Prompt: Everyone has a darker side.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age.

Alistair may not have ever really felt that he was the bravest guy around or the smartest (although he often felt like he was the funniest but that was more due to the humorless men he found himself surrounded by than any great skill on his part) but he could at least rest assured that he was, without a doubt, a decent person.

Not to say that he was perfect, of course, and he had plenty of foibles but he never went out of his way to hurt people and he often went out of his way to help them. Often but not always because, again, lack of perfection and his situation not always making it feasible to lend a hand. Lothering, for instance. He had wanted so badly to save those people but even if he had stayed until the Blight devoured the town he wouldn't have been able to do much and then who would save the rest of Ferelden? Leliana said that the fact that he felt so horrible about doing what he had to do to save everybody meant that he was a good person. Alistair himself wasn't so sure but he figured that Leliana had spent a lot of time recently doing some soul-searching and reflection in the Chantry so she would probably know better than he would.

It wasn't like Alistair was trying to be the best person around but he generally held to the belief that he was thoroughly decent. Despite his templar training, he had supported saving the mages. He had supported ending the curse the werewolves had been under and thus saving both them and the Dalish. He had supported saving Redcliffe from the walking dead and then in saving both Connor and Isolde. He had been horrified when what seemed like the entire village of Haven had attacked them and forced him and the others to wipe them all out. Morality mattered to him. The world wasn't black and white and so sometimes the right thing to do wouldn't be clear – like pretty much everything in Orzammar – but at least he could say that he always tried.

Except.

Except there had been a slow-burning hatred in him ever since Ostagar. He had tried to stay calm, tried to impartially find a reason for Loghain's sudden retreat and the massacre that followed but he hadn't been able to. Part of it, he supposed, was the cryptic little hints that Flemeth had given him about what had happened. But really? "Men's hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature"? How else was he supposed to interpret that and the dozens of other pithy statements just like it? Another part of it was the fact that Duncan was dead. Duncan and the other Wardens and King Cailan and hundreds if not thousands of good Ferelden men…all of whom were counting on the celebrated Teyrn Loghain to charge.

So maybe Alistair had problems thinking about Loghain rationally but it wasn't like the man hadn't seemed to go out of his way to prove what a treacherous bastard he really was. Declaring himself regent and sparking a civil war, sending an assassin after them, declaring the Grey Wardens outlaws, blaming the Grey Wardens for his own crimes, snatching a blood mage from templars that he then imprisoned, sending said blood mage to poison Arl Eamon and indirectly causing everything that followed, selling elves into slavery, allowing the torture of nobles, having his own daughter kidnapped and making her fear for her life…Alistair felt that he could have been thoroughly convinced that quitting the field at Ostagar was the only way to preserve what was left of the army and thus save the country because everyone else was doomed anyway and he _still_ would have found plenty of reason to want Loghain's head.

So no, it wasn't like he had a problem with this burning hatred because he felt that Loghain didn't deserve it because he did and quite a bit more, too. What was really starting to scare him was what that hatred was doing to him. His fellow Warden had tentatively brought up the fact that Anora had spoken out in support of sparing her father's life if it was at all practical to do so and his reaction to that had been quite a bit stronger than he'd expected. He had been, in the moment that followed this announcement, perfectly willing to give Anora the crown and let her rule despite his serious reservations about her concern for the people if it had meant Loghain's death. He had tried to imagine watching Loghain walk out of the Landsmeet chambers alive and his first reaction had been that he'd walk out of Ferelden if he did. If anyone should even _think_ to spare Loghain by conscripting him then he didn't even know how he would react.

That…that wasn't _right_. Loghain was evil, yes, but leaving wouldn't hurt him so much as it would hurt Ferelden and the country he had worked tirelessly to save for the past year didn't deserve to be abandoned by him just because Loghain was still around. He knew that, he did, but he couldn't guarantee that he could bring himself to stay if things had played out that way.

That was why, when Loghain had surprisingly been talked down from attempting to kill them all for voting against them, Alistair had been so eager to duel Loghain himself. His fellow Warden looked like she had some serious reservations about letting him but she had ultimately agreed and that was all that mattered. The duel was to go on until one side became incapable of fighting or until one party yielded.

"So, there is some of Maric in you after all. Good," Loghain said, resheathing his sword. He sounded calm, like he knew what was coming.

Loghain had just yielded. He didn't even have a weapon in hand anymore. Technically, the duel was over even if it hadn't been called. He _should_ just let it go, he knew. He should trust that justice would be done and Loghain would be executed as a traitor for what he had done to Ferelden over the past year. But…his fellow Warden had seemed almost disappointed when he had so vehemently objected to Anora's desire to let Loghain live if it could be done. It was unlikely, yes, but did he really want to risk it? He may get justice in the future but he could get justice right now. The blade was in his hands and Loghain's head was bowed to make it oh-so-easy to just swing his sword and…

"Forget Maric. This is for Duncan."

Everyone had a darker side.

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	3. Lyrium is one hell of a drug

Prompt: Lyrium is one hell of a drug

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age.

Alistair had never been more sure that he didn't want to be a templar than he was today, which was really saying something when you considered that he had hated his future career since the moment Arl Eamon had told him about it.

Today a templar had arrived at the Denerim Chantry for a day or two on his way to Val Royeaux for his retirement. Ser Graham was the man's name and Alistair had been assigned to keep watch over him for the duration of his stay. No one else had wanted the job and, honestly, Alistair hadn't either but he had just been caught jumping on the revered mother's bed (though he had gotten two galleons for it and so he considered it well-worth it) and so he was being punished. How sad when after a full lifetime of service to the Chantry, a retiring templar had to have people being punished by being in his presence.

The reason that no one wanted to go anywhere near Ser Graham was because, in addition to the fact that they all had better things to do than keep an eye on him, he was – quite frankly – extremely creepy. Since arriving, Ser Graham had gazed at everything with an almost child-like sense of wonder as if he had never seen it before and occasionally his head would swivel from side to side as if he honestly had no idea where he was. The others had told him that Ser Graham was suffering from years lyrium intake…years of lyrium intake that he would be expected to go through once he stopped being able to put off the taking of his vows.

So, Ser Graham really bothered him but it wasn't like he had much of a choice about talking to him and so Alistair squared his shoulders and marched determinedly over to the aging templar.

Ser Graham blinked at him. "Hello," he said, sounding very much as if he was speaking from the bottom of a well. "You look like King Maric."

Alistair winced. He hadn't gotten that nearly as much since his biological father had died. "I'm not," he said flatly.

"Oh," Ser Graham said slowly. "I remember…did he die?"

"He did," Alistair confirmed quietly.

"Why am I here?" Ser Graham asked. "I don't belong here."

Alistair coughed awkwardly. "Well…this is the Denerim Chantry."

"The Denerim Chantry," Ser Graham repeated. "I don't think I've been here before. Still, if the Maker calls upon me to serve here then I will do my sacred duty as a templar and serve here."

"You're only going to be here for a few days," Alistair corrected. "Then you're going to Val Royeaux, remember?"

If the way Ser Graham was frowning at him was any indication then he did not. "Val Royeaux…that's in Orlais, I think. Are we speaking to Orlais again? Or did they ever even leave? I don't quite…remember."

"They left, yes," Alistair confirmed, glad to be on more familiar grounds. "Nearly thirty years ago King Maric and Teyrn Loghain drove them out. Ferelden is dealing with them again but the Ferelden Chantry never stopped." As the Divine herself was in Val Royeaux, that was hardly surprising nor was the fact that the Chantry had supposedly supported the occupation which still made them a little unpopular to this day.

"That's good," Ser Graham declared, blinking rapidly. "I am a templar first and foremost but I would hate to have to live out my days in a land that is an enemy of my home."

Alistair surreptitiously looked around to see if anyone was paying any attention to them before he asked his next question. They weren't. "So, uh…what exactly happened to you? Why are you…retiring?"

Ser Graham frowned again. "I don't know. That may be the problem. I just…there's so many things that I…everything's all blurry and I just don't know. It makes it harder to do the Maker's sacred duty but I am determined to do my best until the end of my days."

"I see," Alistair said unhappily. Was the still-fanatical devotion to the Maker and the Chantry a result of the lyrium or just a lifetime of service to the Chantry? Neither possibility really sat well with Alistair.

Ser Graham suddenly pulled out a bottle that Alistair could identify from the smell as lyrium. He began to gulp it down with an almost painful desperation and it was hard for Alistair to watch it. This man, Ser Graham, was losing his mind to the lyrium and yet even now he was still taking it. It seemed…horrible. Of course, it wasn't like there was any better option. The lyrium withdrawal would drive him crazy all the faster if what Alistair had heard was true.

Lyrium was one hell of a drug and, though he had no idea how to keep this promise, Alistair swore to himself that he'd find a way to avoid this fate ever becoming his.

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	4. In a perfect world, we'd never have met

Prompt: "In a perfect world we would never have met."

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age.

The door opened.

"Where are you going?" King Cailan asked curiously as he quietly slipped into the room.

Prince Alistair, dressed in splintmail armor, reluctantly pulled his foot back through the window. "Escaping."

"Escaping," Cailan repeated, sounding amused. "From what, exactly? The palace is hardly a prison."

"There are certainly enough guards to staff one," Alistair muttered.

"Oh, they're just there to make sure everyone knows who we are and to carry out our orders," Cailan said easily. "Well…and technically also to protect us but I've never found myself in much need of protecting and you can certainly take care of yourself. Still, it's nice not to have to."

"I will concede that they are important," Alistair acknowledged. "But how am I supposed to see the real Denerim if they're always following me around and making sure everyone knows that a 'royal personage' is coming?"

Cailan laughed. "The 'real' Denerim? And where, exactly, do you think we are now? The secret fake Denerim?"

"It might as well be for all that it compares with the rest of the city," Alistair declared. "I want to meet the people and the guards, regardless of their intentions, get in the way. They won't let me out by myself and so I'm escaping."

Cailan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "You know, as your king and elder brother, I feel like I really should put a stop to this reckless course of action."

"But you won't, right?" Alistair asked hopefully.

Cailan laughed again. "Oh, go have fun, Alistair. And flirt with an elven girl for me. Anora never lets me have any fun…"

Alistair thought about pointing out that since he was married, Cailan wasn't supposed to be having that kind of 'fun' so Anora's attitude on the matter was really quite reasonable but decided that it would just be a wasted effort. His brother had a happy talent for never seeming to notice anything that would inconvenience him. Instead, he nodded his thanks and took off for the tavern.

* * *

Ahria Noromin tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for her cousin to join her. Shianni had been increasingly busy since Valendrian had decided on Shianni as the future _hahren _of the Alienage. They had all been rather…concerned about Shianni's brash and outspoken nature but, though she would inevitably step on some toes, leading the Alienage would call for that at times. Her mother, who had been a bit of a rabble-rouser herself back in the day, had always insisted that Shianni would turn out fine and now it looked like she was right. Still, they had been planning to go out for drinks just the two of them for weeks and Shianni had better not have forgotten.

"I'm sorry I'm late!" Shianni cried out as she ran towards her cousin. "There was a discrepancy with the one of the accounts and-"

Ahria shrugged. "At least you're here now."

"There is that," Shianni agreed. "Let's hurry before Soris decides to tag along with us."

"Why didn't we invite him again?" Ahria asked as the pair began to make their way towards the tavern.

Shianni rolled her eyes. "Maker knows I love my brother, but whenever we go anywhere he keeps trying to set me up with people. He _claims_ it's because he wants to share the joy of matrimony with me – especially when Valora's around – but I think he just doesn't want to have to help pay the dowry or risk losing me to Highever."

"Well with your future all planned out, I think there's very little risk of that happening," Ahria decided. She had been secretly donating some money to Shianni's dowry fund because, though she knew her cousin wouldn't appreciate the 'charity', she didn't want her to have to marry anyone that wasn't worthy of her.

"I notice you didn't invite Nelaros, either," Shianni pointed out.

"True," Ahria admitted. "But he'd be kind of a third wheel since the point is to catch up with you. Besides, it's not as if I didn't see him all day, anyway."

"You really lucked out with him," Shianni noted. "Being an elven merchant isn't easy but since he smiths all your goods for you, you really don't have to worry about finding a supplier."

"Well, you know what I always say," Ahria deadpanned. "If you're going to be forced into an arranged marriage, it might as well be a good one."

* * *

Alistair was standing at the bar when the redheaded elf walked up to him.

"Where's the bartender?" she asked him.

Alistair gestured to the room behind the bar. "He actually runs this service for some of the shadier elements in Denerim. 'Favors for certain interested parties' and whatnot. He's meeting with a nobleman right now to work out the details on one of these 'favors.'" It wasn't that Cailan didn't know about this (Alistair had considered it his brotherly duty to tell him about it), it was just that he found it charmingly roguish and was content to let it be.

The elf's eyes widened. "Is he really? You'd think he'd find somebody else to watch the bar."

"I'm Alistair," Alistair introduced, offering her a hand.

"Ahria," Ahria told him, shaking his hand. "So what are you here for? Not to drink your sorrows away, surely? If nothing else, when you collapse drunk it would be much more comfortable if you weren't in armor."

Alistair laughed. "Oh, no. I just…needed to get away for awhile and I always love the atmosphere here. You?"

"My cousin and I are just here to have some fun," Ahria replied. She paused. "And since I'm an elf, I feel it might be a good idea to add that by 'fun' we do not mean 'threesome' and neither of us is looking to go home with anybody."

"Got it," Alistair told her. "Although my brother _did_ ask me to flirt with someone for him…can I tell him this counts? It'll save me the embarrassment of trying to find someone else to flirt with. You used the words 'fun' and 'threesome' and everything!"

Ahria smiled. "Oh, why not? While watching you try might be fun, I'm in too good of a mood to be that mean. Hey, do you have a table?"

Alistair shook his head. "Not yet. I was waiting for the bartender to come back and get a drink first so I would look less pathetic sitting there by myself."

"Why don't you come sit with me and my cousin?" Ahria suggested. "We could wait together."

Alistair brightened. "You know, I think I'd like that."

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	5. For Duty and Honor

Prompt: For Duty and Honor

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age.

Teagan had thought it was a little odd when his brother had sent a messenger to Rainesfere with a note remarking on how they hadn't seen each other in a few weeks and inviting Teagan to come to Redcliffe whenever he had the time…preferably leaving that very day. Still, Teagan couldn't see any reason _not_ to do as Eamon asked as that usually made his life easier and so he had gone directly to the Arling.

Eamon had greeted him warmly, fed him lunch, and then disappeared into his study with Alistair. Twenty minutes later, his brother explained that Isolde was pregnant and so since he refused to tell her that Alistair was Maric's she was convinced he was Eamon's and wanted him sent away to protect her future child. Eamon 'felt it was for the best' that the boy be sent to the Chantry. Alistair had disagreed and ran out of the castle. Suddenly, the reason for Eamon's sudden feelings of brotherly-ness made a lot more sense.

Teagan had always gotten along well with Alistair and had offered to just take the boy with him back to Rainesfere but apparently even that wasn't good enough to quiet Isolde's paranoia (Maker, he _wanted_ to like his sister-in-law but every time he saw how she treated Alistair it just became so difficult) and since Eamon was Alistair's guardian, there was nothing he could do. Nothing except try to make Alistair feel better about it.

He found Alistair halfway to the village, poking angrily at the ground with a stick and completely covered in mud.

"Hi, Bann Teagan," Alistair greeted him glumly. He had always insisted on calling him that no matter how many times Teagan had requested otherwise and he suspected Eamon's influence as familiarity with Teagan would imply familiarity with Eamon which would help fuel those bastard rumors that Eamon was so desperately afraid of. Teagan was sure that his brother had tried his best but…Why, exactly, had Maric thought that Rowan's brother was the best person to leave to raise his bastard son? And if it had to be one of them, why not him? He may have only been seventeen compared to Eamon's twenty-four but he also wouldn't have given a damn about the rumors. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," Teagan replied simply."Or did you mean at Redcliffe in general? My brother invited me."

"Yeah, he wants _you_ here," Alistair said, a little bitterly. "Not like me. He never wanted me. Did you know that he's going to give me away?"

"I had heard, yes," Teagan confirmed delicately. "You're going to be a templar."

"I don't want to be a stupid templar," Alistair said with a scowl, jabbing furiously with his stick a few times.

Teagan eyed his clean outfit mournfully before settling down in the mud next to Alistair. "I know you don't and I bet that Eamon doesn't really want to send you either."

Alistair looked skeptically up at him. "Then why would he? He's an _Arl_, for Maker's sake! No one can make him do anything."

Teagan sighed. He didn't even agree with his brother's decision and now he was being called upon to defend it to someone who was being hurt by it. "Alistair…sometimes people – especially grown-ups – have to do things that they don't want to do. Do you know why?"

Alistair shook his head firmly.

"Honor and duty," Teagan said solemnly. "Do you know what those mean?"

"I hear the knights talking about honor sometimes," Alistair offered, a little sheepishly. "But no, not really."

"Your duty is something that you probably don't want to do but is required of you for whatever reason," Teagan explained. "For instance…I don't like politics but I am a bann and so it is my duty to attend the Landsmeet every year to deal with problems our country has and to help the king make important decisions."

"And honor?" Alistair pressed.

Teagan frowned, not entirely sure how to explain that concept. "Honor has a lot of different meanings," he said finally. "It can mean glory and recognition, it can mean a good reputation, it can mean a privilege, it can mean that you're a credit to whatever it is you're doing, it can mean that there's a lot of respect involved…A lot of things that are honorable aren't always pleasant. It's a great honor to be chosen to be a bann, for instance, but it's also a lot of work. I have to get involved with politics far more than I'd like and have all sorts of duties to the people that live in my Bannorn. Do you know why I'm telling you this?"

Alistair fidgeted a little but said nothing.

"Do you?" Teagan repeated gently.

"I guess so," Alistair said reluctantly. "You're talking about me being a templar."

Teagan nodded encouragingly but remained quiet.

"You're saying that once I get to the Chantry, even though I don't want to be a templar I'll have a duty to learn how to be one so that I can try to protect people from evil blood mages and…whatever else templars do," Alistair said slowly. "And that even though I might not like it, not everyone can be a templar and my job will be important so it's an honor for me to get to be one. Is that right?"

Teagan nodded again, relieved that Alistair had understood. "Honor and duty don't just apply to my being a bann and you being a templar, you know. Everyone has to deal with it in some way, all the time. Your duty can even be small things like making sure be polite to the servants and to not treat them cruelly because you think you can get away with it."

"Honor and duty, huh?" Alistair asked, looking thoughtful. "Those sound like important things. Maybe…maybe I can go to the Chantry for them. Better than because no one wants me, anyway."

Teagan's heart went out to his almost-nephew. "Oh, Alistair…"

"But I'm _still_ don't want to talk to the Arl," Alistair said, crossing his arms and looking like he dared Teagan to disagree.

"That's alright," Teagan said instead. "I really don't feel like doing that either."

Duty and honor…were there no two words more bitter?

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	6. Lady Hawke, Meet Drunkenstair

Prompt: Hawke walks into a bar and sees Drunkenstair

Disclaimer:

Note: I haven't really been interested in getting advanced information on DA2 so try to keep that in mind.

Aurelia Hawke was merrily sitting on a barstool and hiding from all the people who wanted her to go solve all of their problems for them when the man sleeping on the bar stool next to hers shifted and fell over onto her.

"Gah!" she cried out and promptly shoved him off.

As the man fell to the floor, his eyes fluttered open. "Ow…how much did I have to drink?"

"Too damn much," the bartender said bluntly. "But most of that pain you're feeling is from when she" he inclined his head towards Aurelia "knocked you to the ground."

The man turned confused and slightly hurt eyes to her.

"Hey," Aurelia said defensively. "You're the one who rolled onto me! Pushing you off was a reflex, really."

"Oh, I see," the man said dully. He brushed himself off and stood up.

As he turned to walk away, Aurelia called out to him. "So…that's it? I very possibly give you a head injury and you're just going to let it go without even getting annoyed?"

"What would you rather I do?" the man asked her.

"…I just said that," Aurelia answered. "Get annoyed."

"I've seen far too much to get worked up over something so minor," the man told her.

The bartender sighed. "Oh, now look what you've done! Alistair will a weepy drunk for the next week!"

The man, Alistair, looked a little embarrassed. "No, I won't!" he denied.

"Sure, you say that _now_," the bartender muttered disbelievingly.

"Am I missing something?" Aurelia asked awkwardly.

"Only if you consider the fact that Alistair claims that he was one of the Grey Wardens who was working to end the Blight over in Ferelden but left before the end because his fellow Warden and the Blight-ender decided to not kill someone he desperately wanted dead to be 'something,'" the bartender answered. "Oh, and let's not forget the fact that he's apparently the bastard son of King Maric."

"Trust me, I can't," Alistair assured him, looking downcast.

Aurelia examined Alistair closely. "You know, I was actually in Ferelden when the Blight first broke out."

"Oh, so you fought darkspawn?" the bartender asked, intrigued.

Aurelia laughed. "Are you kidding? My family and I heard Teyrn Loghain tell us that a Blight was coming, made our arrangement, and then within the month we were heading for less doomed parts."

"That's not very altruistic of you," Alistair said disapprovingly. He had twitched at the mention of the Teyrn's name for same reason.

"Maybe not," Aurelia admitted. "But it does explain why we're all alive and most of the people we left behind kind of aren't. I did stay long enough to see the Warden though."

"Was she as amazing as everyone said she was?" the bartender asked eagerly.

Aurelia looked awkward. "Well…you have to keep in mind that I only saw her for a few minutes on our way out of Lothering…"

"What happened?" the bartender pressed.

"I saw her picking the lock to a cage that held a violent family-murdering giant – and the family he killed had saved his life, too – and then ruthlessly cutting down some desperate refugees. To be fair, they were trying to collect the bounty on her for being a Grey Warden but some of them weren't even armed and she didn't even _try_ to talk them down. In fact, she called them pathetic. I might have just caught her on a bad day, though," Aurelia said, though she sounded doubtful.

"And let me guess, no Alistair," the bartender said smugly.

"Actually, I think he was there," Aurelia corrected him. "He was surprised the giant had managed a few weeks in the cage with no food or water and the giant told him that if he couldn't it was probably his lack of knowledge about the, what was? The Koon? Or was it Qun?"

"I'm not going to say 'I told you so'," Alistair said with a tiny hint of a smirk. "But know that the sentiment is there regardless."

"Well, fine, maybe that part's true," the bartender conceded, looking stunned. "But there's no way you're also the bastard son of King Maric."

Aurelia coughed.

The bartender groaned. "Oh, don't tell me you can personally confirm that as well!"

"Sorry," Aurelia said, shrugging apologetically. "But I've heard that the Ferelden throne was settled after that nasty civil war when the Hero of Ferelden's fellow Warden was proposed to take the throne from Queen Anora. He failed, of course, but he was put forth because he was the bastard son of King Maric."

"…Seriously?" the bartender demanded, flabbergasted. "The rambling drunk actually _is_ a bastard prince and a Grey Warden to boot?"

"Was," Alistair corrected.

"I guess so," Aurelia said with a shrug. "You didn't really end up here because someone failed to kill someone you wanted dead, did you?"

Alistair winced. "It was a bit more complicated than that, thank you," he said stiffly. "But I don't particularly want to discuss it. Bartender, if I could get another drink-"

The bartender shot her a pointed look. Remembering what he had said earlier about how that topic was likely to make him a weepy drunk, Aurelia tossed some coins down and quickly headed as fast as she could without being considered rude to the door.

And hey, if she could lend credence to his story then it looks like she could manage good deeds even while hanging out a tavern. That information was sure to come in plenty of handy, she could tell.

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	7. What if Alistair met Duncan in the Fade?

Prompt: what if Alistair met Duncan in the Fade.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age.

Alistair blinked. He was standing in a grand hall but, for the life of him, he couldn't remember how he had gotten there.

"Alistair!" a deep voice rang out merrily.

Alistair looked up to see Duncan beaming and heading towards him. He started in surprise and then wondered why. Duncan had probably just startled him. "Duncan, I…this is a little embarrassing but where exactly are we?"

"Weisshaupt, of course," Duncan replied. "We've been here for nearly a month now. Alistair…are you feeling okay?"

"Yes. No. Maybe?" Alistair asked, shrugging a little. "Why are we in Weisshaupt of all places instead of Ferelden? We have a Blight to fight, remember?"

"I'm not the one who can't remember, Alistair," Duncan pointed out. "And you're a little confused, I see. We _did_ have a Blight to stop. Then we stopped it."

"We did?" Alistair asked, hardly daring to believe it. That was…that was wonderful!

Duncan nodded. "Indeed. It was a glorious battle. We set the lairs of the darkspawn aflame and completely eradicated them. It's far more than I ever hoped to achieve in my lifetime but I certainly won't question the Maker if He sees fit to deliver us from them."

Alistair couldn't remember any of that but he trusted Duncan and he had to have gotten to Weisshaupt somehow, right? "So what are we supposed to do now that the darkspawn are all defeated?"

Duncan sobered slightly. "The sacrifices that our fellow Wardens made must never be forgotten, Alistair. We have decided that henceforth the Grey Wardens shall be an order of historians and storytellers. We won't need recruits to undertake the Joining anymore, of course, but I don't want to see our order fade away and allow the sacrifices to be forgotten."

"No, the sacrifices of the Wardens should _never_ be forgotten," Alistair agreed. "But…why are we at Weisshaupt? I know the Blight's gone but that doesn't explain why we're here. And where's Anastasia?"

"I'll answer your second question first," Duncan decided. "Anastasia is a Cousland, remember? She was willing to help us while we needed her against the darkspawn but once the darkspawn were wiped out, she went back and drove the late Arl Howe and his men from her teynir and became a Teyrna. She and her new husband Teagan Guerrin are very happy together, from what I understand."

"Teyrn Teagan," Alistair said. It sounded good despite his almost uncle's dislike of politics. "But what about me and Anastasia? We had something!"

Duncan looked a little troubled. "I know you did, Alistair. It's just…you're a commoner and she is a noble. Her duty is to Highever and you had to have known that the minute she was released from her obligation to fight darkspawn that you two could never have worked out."

It was as if the floor were falling out from under his feet. The worst part was that he _had_ known that and that was why he had tried not to fall in lo-to like her as much as he did. Duty meant almost as much to her as it did to him, after all, and so it really didn't matter what either of them thought of it. And Teyrn Teagan was a good man. They'd be happy together, he hoped. He might have dreamed that…but it didn't matter, now did it? "And we're not in Ferelden because?" he repeated his earlier question to try and stave off the pain.

"Politics," Duncan answered simply.

"Politics?" Alistair repeated, not quite understanding. "But…you said that Wardens are supposed to stay out of politics."

"We are," Duncan confirmed. "And that is why the Teyrna resigned from the order. After Teyrn Loghain won a great victory at Ostagar and was instrumental in ending the Blight, we owe him a great deal."

Alistair heard the words but he was having difficulty processing them. Loghain wasn't a hero, he was a traitor! But…why was he a traitor? What had he done? Alistair couldn't for the life of him remember but being asked to see Loghain as a hero was anathema to him. He could remember genuinely respecting Loghain once but somewhere along the line that had changed. Why? "What does that have to do with this?"

"Loghain is a great man but he's never been able to get over his issues with the Orlesians and our order came to Ferelden from Orlais. I myself was conscripted in the Empire. He was never happy that we were allowed back into the country but we were needed then and now we can afford to honor his wish to keep us out of Ferelden," Duncan explained.

"Loghain kicked us out of Ferelden?" Alistair cried out, outraged. He wondered if that would be enough to explain the deep burning hatred he felt for that man. No, he decided, it wasn't.

"It's a bit more complicated than that," Duncan told him. "After the Blight was over, King Cailan called a Landsmeet to announce that Queen Anora was infertile and so he was marrying Empress Celene of Orlais. Teyrn Loghain wouldn't accept that and within a year Anora had married and had a son with Nathaniel Howe who Anastasia had let keep his land. The civil war for the throne is still brewing and that, combined with Loghain's desire to see us gone, convinced me to take the order out of Ferelden."

"What? But…Cailan wouldn't do that! Wynne assured me that Cailan loved Anora and the only thing that ever stood in their way was Loghain! Wynne's very wise, too, so it must be true!" Alistair protested.

"I'm sorry, Alistair," Duncan said gravely. "Does this mean that you're not interested in helping me compose a ballad about the great heroism of Teyrn Loghain during the Blight?"

Alistair started screaming then and he didn't stop until Anastasia appeared out of nowhere .

"Alistair, we have to go. This isn't real," she told him urgently, sounding as if she didn't expect to be believed.

She was in for a surprise, then. "Oh, thank the Maker!"

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	8. First Meeting

Prompt: First Meeting.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age.

Note: So this may seem a little odd but it always struck me just how confident Alistair had been in Loghain at Ostagar and that's part of why him leaving came as such a shock.

Alistair had never met Teyrn Loghain before but he had certainly heard the stories. The Teyrn had once been a commoner like him but had risen to the ranks of the high nobility due to sheer bravery and talent. He had also been a close friend of King Maric (the man who, like it or not, had technically fathered Alistair) and was instrumental in driving out the Orlesians as well as being a lifelong confidante to the king. And now…Alistair was actually going to meet the man.

It wouldn't just be him and Loghain, of course, as Alistair was quite certain that he was beneath the Teyrn's notice but King Cailan had insisted that all of the available Grey Wardens be presented to him upon their arrival at Ostagar and that did include Alistair. Loghain was also present for whatever reason and though he had frowned upon first laying eyes on Duncan, his face had smoothed out into a mask of impassiveness.

Thinking about Loghain was easier than thinking about the king. Cailan was, as difficult as it was to believe, his half-brother. This was actually the second time they had met although Alistair rather doubted that the king even remembered their first meeting, so eager was he to drag Teagan to the armory. No, Alistair could never be a noble king like Cailan but maybe one day if he did his duty well enough and was in the right place at the right time he could become a commoner-turned-hero like Loghain.

Alistair actually thought that Loghain seemed more impressive than Cailan anyway. Cailan had all the trappings of the nobility that Loghain lacked and truly looked like a glorious king out of those tales he had mentioned earlier but he lacked a certain something that Loghain possessed in spades. Experience, maybe? Alistair actually rather hoped that that was it because that was something Cailan would gain in time, perhaps even by the time they were finished here at Ostagar. Alistair just knew that whatever it was that Loghain possessed that Cailan didn't, it was enough that he had no doubt who he trusted to carry them through the day.

Loghain caught Alistair staring and came to stand by him.

"Never doubt that you belong here," he said quietly. "The Grey Wardens, whatever else they are, do not recruit the weak."

Alistair's ears reddened and he had to fight back a smile. He was glad that Cailan had someone like Teyrn Loghain on his side.

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	9. Splitting Hairs

Prompt: Splitting Hairs

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age.

"Loghain," Alistair announced one morning just after breakfast, "is the single most evil and irredeemable creature that I have ever had the misfortune to meet…nay, that has ever existed."

Aunn Aeducan raised her eyebrows at that. Personally, she was still withholding judgment on the matter until they knew more but her initial opinion was that he wasn't _nearly_ as bad as Alistair kept insisting. Alistair had picked up on this and was doing his utmost to convince her otherwise. "Don't you think you're exaggerating just a little?"

"Not even slightly," Alistair said stubbornly. "In fact, I almost feel like I'm understating it but I don't know how to possibly make my meaning any more clear without resorting to metaphors."

"So you've decided that Teyrn Loghain is more evil and irredeemable than even the darkspawn?"  
Aunn asked, sounding surprised. "You know, I don't often agree with my evil brother – if only on principle – but I must say that it does sound like you've forgotten your training."

Alistair flushed. "Okay, maybe he's not as evil as the darkspawn themselves but that wasn't what I meant and you know it."

"Do I?" Aunn asked rhetorically. "You did say 'creature' and not 'person.' Had you used the word 'person' then of course I never would have assumed that you were taking the darkspawn into account."

"Fair enough," Alistair grumbled. "But it's not like saying that Loghain is less evil than the darkspawn is really saying all that much."

"Perhaps not," Aunn acknowledged."But it is important that we remember these things in case it ever comes down to killing Loghain or ending the Blight."

Alistair looked baffled. "Why ever would it come down to killing Loghain or ending the Blight?"

Aunn shrugged. "I like to be prepared for all eventualities. Not doing so put me in a rather bad position, if you'll remember."

"Well, I guess that I can't fault you there," Alistair admitted. "But make no mistake, it will _not_ come to that. You know how evil Loghain is! He deserves justice!"

" 'Justice,'" Aunn repeated. "I do not think that words means what you think it means."

Alistair rolled his eyes. "Now you sound like Morrigan. Of course I know what justice means!"

"Not to sound like Morrigan – because believe me, I'm _really_ not trying to – but prove it," Aunn requested. "What do you think would count as 'justice' for Loghain."

"Having everyone denounce him as a traitor and watching him get his head cut off," Alistair said promptly. "Preferably by me but I am willing to compromise on that point."

"Do you really think we'll have time to deal with his trial before dealing with the Blight?" Aunn asked him. "He's not without his allies, you know, and a trial would surely divide the nobility."

"Why would the nobility be divided?" Alistair demanded. "He's obviously guilty! I mean…he killed Duncan and King Cailan! And he poisoned Arl Eamon!"

"Technically, he didn't kill them," Aunn pointed out. "He merely left instead of reinforcing them like he was supposed to do and thus enable the darkspawn to have an easier time killing them. We don't even know that if he did charge either would still be alive. And he hired Jowan to poison Arl Eamon, which there's really no proof of so good luck convincing any of the nobles."

"Now you're just splitting hairs," Alistair accused.

"True," Aunn agreed. "But do you really think the defense will be any less prone to hair-splitting at his trial?"

"Why would he even need a trial?" Alistair wanted to know. "Telling everyone what he did if they don't already know and I guess finding irrefutable evidence of it or a witness _if we must_ should be more than enough! If we all know he's guilty, there's no need to drag things out."

Aunn shook her head. "See, that's why I'm not convinced you're entirely clear on the word 'justice' because what you just described sounds a lot like 'vengeance.' I'm not judging either way but you really should use the correct word."

"Sometimes justice _is_ vengeance," Alistair argued.

Aunn nodded. "Sometimes, yes, but only after there is a trial. I'll confess that I don't know how things work with commoners here in Ferelden but there is no way that you can just execute a noble without giving him a trial." She paused. "Preferably one that the noble is actually present at but I've learned that people are willing to compromise on that point."

"That's ridiculous!" Alistair protested.

"Ridiculous or not, it is the law and the law is there to protect us unless it gets circumvented by evil siblings," Aunn explained patiently.

"But he's _evil_," Alistair insisted.

"Then you'll have to prove that in some form of a legal trial," Aunn said flatly. She wasn't quite sure that she believed in absolute evil but Alistair didn't seem to be big on moral relativism. He'd shown himself willing to look the other way when called upon to do so in the name of being a Grey Warden and stopping the Blight but he'd always been quite put-out about it.

Alistair groaned. "Nobles make everything too damn complicated. Is it any wonder that I don't want anything to do with…" He stopped, remembering that he hadn't actually told Aunn about that yet.

Aunn looked at him curiously. "What? Is it any wonder that you don't want anything to do with what? Nobles?"

Alistair forced a smile. "Y-yes, that's exactly it. Now, um, I just remembered that I need to talk to Leliana about something very important. We can continue this some other time if you'd like."

With that, he ran off leaving Aunn to shake her head in confusion as she stared after him.

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	10. There Is No Love Without Sacrifice

Prompt: There is no love without sacrifice.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age.

Alistair gazed at his wife mournfully across the dinner table. "It's just who I am. I thought that you understood that."

"I'm not trying to change you," Anastasia argued. "I just-"

"Really?" Alistair cut her off. "Because it sure seems like it. I never thought I'd say this but…I'll bet that _Anora_ wouldn't have asked me to make this kind of sacrifice."

Anastasia's jaw dropped. "Oh you did _not_ just imply that you would have been better off marrying Anora because of this!"

"Inferences are subjective," Alistair said innocently.

"Either way, there's no way this wouldn't bother her!" Anastasia declared. "In fact, she would have probably mentioned it a long time ago."

"Just because _you_ turned out to have a problem with this part of my life doesn't mean that everybody would," Alistair disagreed. "I really think that you're projecting here."

"You know, Anora's in Denerim right now," Anastasia told him. "And she's coming in for an audience tomorrow. Why don't we ask her then if she'd have a problem with it."

"Fine," Alistair agreed coldly. "But don't be surprised when you hear that not only would it not have bothered her in the slightest but she might not even have noticed."

Anastasia rolled her eyes. "**Please**. The only way the Teyrna says that is if she's trying to be diplomatic and wants something from you."

"Must you always think the worst of everyone?" Alistair demanded.

"Since when do I 'always' think the worst of everyone?" Anastasia asked, surprised.

Alistair raised an eyebrow pointedly.

Anastasia flushed. "Oh, you cannot possibly use this situation right now as an example of me _always_ doing something! And besides, I'm the one who actually likes Anora; you're perpetually on the lookout that she's secretly evil."

"Well, she _is_ Loghain's daughter," Alistair said reasonably. "And if only someone were on the lookout for him being secretly evil, think how much trouble we could have avoided a few years back. I'll bet my father did that, you know, but Cailan sadly neglected his duties."

"You're completely overreacting anyway," Anastasia told him flatly, changing the subject.

Alistair barked out a laugh. "Overreacting? Me? You can't just ask a man to make this kind of a sacrifice and then say that he's 'overreacting' when he doesn't leap at the chance! Sometimes, I wonder if you ever really knew me…"

Anastasia just stared at him. "You _really_ don't think you're overreacting?"

"Not even in the slightest," Alistair confirmed.

"You not only implied you might have been better off marrying Loghain's daughter but you also verbally doubted how much we know each other," Anastasia pointed out.

"I remember that," Alistair said dryly. "I was the one to just say that just a few minutes ago. I still maintain that the first one is just your interpretation of what I said, though."

Anastasia threw her hands up in the air. "By the Maker, Alistair, I'm not asking you to starve yourself!"

"You might as well be," Alistair sniffed.

"Alistair, you have had cheese – and a lot of it – with every meal you've had for at _least_ three months now," Anastasia said, exasperated. "I'm not even asking that you completely stop consuming it, just perhaps that you eat a little less."

"Why would you even think of asking that of me?" Alistair asked, hurt. "You know how much I love cheese!"

"Oh, I do. _Believe_ me, I do," Anastasia muttered. "And normally I would just keep on ignoring it as just one of your quirks – and it's not like I don't have plenty of my own – but it's kind of getting ridiculous."

"Just because you've never loved a food as much as I love cheese is no reason to try to punish me," Alistair declared dramatically.

Anastasia shook her head incredulously. "I can't believe that I'm even having this conversation."

"Neither can I," Alistair said seriously. "It's just so uncalled for."

"It's _hardly_ uncalled for," Anastasia countered. "Nan always used to tell me when I was little to be careful not to eat too much of one food or there may be some negative side-effects and you can't deny that this is the case here."

"Of course I can deny it," Alistair scoffed. "I refuse to believe that anything negative has happened from my cheese consumption except you trying to get me to stop."

"Well, you couldn't if you were being reasonable," Anastasia said with a sigh. "Apparently when I was just a baby, I refused to eat anything but mashed-up sweet potatoes and carrots so I starting turning orange. My parents had never heard of such a thing and they were really worried for awhile but after taking me to see a healer, they were advised to just stop feeding me exclusively orange food and sure enough I was back to normal within a few days."

"I don't see what that has to do with me," Alistair insisted.

Anastasia raised an eyebrow. "Oh now? You haven't noticed that your migraines and constipation have only started since you started going overboard with the cheese?"

"It's a coincidence," Alistair claimed. "Correlation does not equal causation, you know."

"And the sleepiness is a coincidence as well?" Anastasia asked skeptically. "You've been passed out by nine for weeks now!"

"Yes," Alistair answered shortly.

"What about the flatulence?" Anastasia challenged. "Last time Oghren was here, even _he_ was impressed!"

Alistair looked a little embarrassed. "Okay, so maybe **that** is the result of the cheese. But a little extra gas is hardly reason enough to start demanding that I stop eating my beloved cheese!"

"What about the acne and weight gain?" Anastasia demanded. "Are _they_ enough?"

"I don't know what you're talking about?" Alistair said virtuously.

"Would you like me to bring a mirror?" Anastasia asked sweetly. "I can be sure to point it out to you."

Alistair cleared his throat. "That won't be necessary." He paused. "Exactly how much cheese would we be cutting out of my diet anyway?"

"According to the healer, it would be easier to wean you off of your excess slowly," Anastasia responded. "I can send for her after dinner and we can work out a comprehensive plan then."

"You're lucky I love you," Alistair told her, a slight grin playing on his lips.

"Indeed," Anastasia agreed. "Just remember, dear husband: There is no love without sacrifice."

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	11. Love Means Never Having to Say Sorry

Prompt: Love means never having to say you're sorry.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age.

Alistair's nine-year-old daughter Moira had been sent to him by her exasperated nanny after the child had knocked over her little brother's blocks and refused to apologize.

She stared at him defiantly. "I'm not going to say I'm sorry!"

"Moira, you know that you made Teagan cry," Alistair told her, a hint of disapproval in his voice.

"I didn't mean to!" Moira objected. "I didn't even mean to knock over his stupid blocks, anyway. He just built them too close to the door and I didn't see them."

"If you didn't mean to knock them over and didn't want your brother to cry then why won't you apologize?" Alistair asked reasonably. "You can apologize for accidents, too, you know."

"I know," Moira said solemnly, nodding. "But…I can't apologize to him. I just can't."

"Why not?" Alistair asked patiently. "I promise you that he'll forgive you if you do."

Moira looked at the floor. "That's not it."

"I'm not a mind-reader, Moira," Alistair told her. "I can't help you until you tell me what's wrong."

"I can't apologize to Teagan 'cause I love him!" Moira burst out.

Alistair blinked. "I…don't quite follow. Shouldn't loving him mean that you'd want to make him not upset at you anymore?"

Moira looked torn. "Well, yeah…except that I need some other way to get him to not be mad anymore."

"What's wrong with apologizing?" Alistair inquired.

Moira huffed. "I just told you! I can'ts 'cause I love him!"

"Why can't you apologize to Teagan _and_ love him?" Alistair asked her, feeling a little out of his depth.

"Because I heard mommy say that love means never having to say you're sorry," Moira explained. "And I love Teagan so I can't tell him that I'm sorry."

Alistair tried very hard to keep a straight face and though he managed not to chuckle, he couldn't help the small smile tugging on his lips.

Moira's face crumpled. "And now you're laughing at me and Teagan will probably never forgive me and…and I don't know what to do!"

"Easy, Moira, I'm not laughing at you," Alistair was quick to reassure his daughter. He placed a hand on her shoulder.

"You're not?" Moira asked uncertainly, her eyes scanning his face for any hint of deception.

"I would _never_ laugh at you," Alistair promised. "I just realized that you got the wrong idea from what your mother said. You're allowed to apologize to someone that you love."

Moira's eyes widened. "You _are_?"

Alistair nodded. "Towards the end of your mother's pregnancy with Teagan, I was apologizing to her at least a half dozen times a day, you know. And then when she got a little…upset while your brother was being born, she apologized to me afterwards as well."

Moira's forehead scrunched up in confusion. "So…was mommy lying, then?" The very idea seemed inconceivable to her.

"She wasn't lying," Alistair corrected her. "The expression 'love means never having to say you're sorry' means that you're not supposed to hurt the people you care about on purpose and knowing that they will always forgive you, no matter what…or at least that's how I've always understood it."

"So Teagan will forgive me for knocking over his blocks because he loves me, even if I don't apologize?" Moira asked hopefully.

"Eventually, yes," Alistair confirmed. "But I think that we can speed that process up if you did apologize to him."

"Why?" Moira asked, puzzled. "You just said that he would forgive me anyway."

"Yes, but if you apologize then he'll know that you're sorry about what happened and it would be easier to forgive him," Alistair explained. "You know how I apologized to you last year when I accidentally stepped on your favorite toy?"

Moira nodded slowly, a flash of sadness dancing across her face at the reminder of her broken toy. "Yeah."

"Well, if I hadn't said I was sorry, would you have forgiven me by now?" Alistair asked.

Moira thought about it. "Hm…I don't know. But I guess a year is kind of a long time so maybe yes."

"Was it far easier to forgive me since I said that I was sorry?" Alistair asked pointedly.

"Yeah because then I knew that you cared that you made me cry-Oh!" Moira realized. "Thanks Dad, I gotta go!" She ran for the door.

"Where?" Alistair called after her.

"I gotta go tell Teagan I'm sorry about his blocks before he forgives me!" she shouted back over her shoulder.

"And so another crisis is successfully dealt with," Alistair mused. "I can't wait until they're old enough to have serious problems…"

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	12. It's Good to be King

Prompt: It's Good to be King

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age.

There were times when Alistair thought back to the past, his past more specifically. It was only natural, of course, but he had triggers. Every time he heard anything about Redcliffe or about the Guerrin family he remembered his childhood at Redcliffe as the embarrassing and unwanted suspected bastard of the Arl. He wasn't, of course, but he was a regular royal bastard (and he had to credit a certain fellow Warden of his for coming up with that one as no one else in the know had been casual enough about it to make jokes) and his very existence was apparently a dire threat to Ferelden stability and, more to the point, his half-brother's rule.

Every time he was in any way reminded of the Chantry (and as Ferelden was the rather religious birthplace of Andraste whose ashes had recently been discovered, this was rather often), it brought back the decade or so that he had been destined to become a slave to it. There were worse fates than that of a templar, he knew, but that didn't make being a lyrium-addled templar a good thing and he wouldn't want any of those lives that would have made being a templar seem that way by comparison. The Chantry was a good life for some, he supposed, but not for him and his lack of choice about the whole affair just made him resent it all the more. He had never had **any** problems with the Chantry before being sent to live there, after all…but then he hadn't known very much about it before then, either.

Every time Grey Wardens were mentioned he remembered those six glorious months that he had spent among their ranks before they were betrayed by that traitor, Loghain. He remembered their kindness, the first unselfish kindness he'd seen in years. He remembered for once not being the embarrassment, not being the screw-up. He was just one of them and even if he was the youngest and least experienced, he still had a place that he had belonged. He still had a family of sorts, people that he trusted with his life and who trusted his life to them. All the drinking, all the secrets, all the feasts, all the frustrations, all the celebrations, all the fears…the good and bad mingled together and became the first every home he'd ever known.

Every time anyone mentioned the Blight – which was at weekly if not daily – then he was taken back to the longest, hardest, most rewarding year of his life. The year they were on the run. The year everything had fallen to pieces. The year that he had to step up. The year that he was only one of two people standing between Ferelden and total annihilation. The year that he had had to stop hiding. The year that he stopped being an unwanted bastard, a failure of a templar, a desperate and unprepared Grey Warden and became a king.

It seemed that almost overnight he went from sleeping on the cold, hard ground to having people asking him about thread-counts on his almost painfully soft bed. No longer did he have to attempt to not accidentally poison himself while cooking as there were people hired to do that for him (well, cook at least. These people were not without skill). No longer was he 'boy' or 'bastard' but 'your majesty.' He wasn't pushed to the side but looked to to take center stage. What he thought mattered and he was called upon to actually decide things. A thoughtless word from him could make or ruin someone's immediate future. He could have a bath whenever he wanted. The first sign of damage to any of his clothing or armor and someone would promptly replace them with something new. He never had to have to choose between helping someone in need or having a place to stay for the night.

Being king…he _never_ would have seen that coming, King Maric's by blow or not. It really shouldn't have ever happened but since, between Loghain and the darkspawn (and okay, fine, the Bannorn didn't exactly help matters), Ferelden was brought to the very brink of total destruction, somebody had to step up. Somehow, everybody had decided that that somebody would be him. He wasn't raised for it and he wasn't particularly keen on the idea – he rather found it terrifying – but he was also determined to do nothing less than his absolute best and to listen to those who actually knew what they were talking about, especially in those early days when he didn't.

Somehow, as the days became weeks, the weeks became months, and the months became years, Alistair had slowly began to enjoy his new position in life. The elves were being oppressed again? Invite one to join his council. The people were feeling disconnected from the monarchy? Go out and visit them. Orzammar was working to push back the darkspawn from the Deep Roads? Send some troops to help out. Kinloch Hold too damaged to house the Circle of Magi anymore? Build a new, far less creepy one.

There were always sacrifices to be made, of course, and he'd lost a lot in terms of privacy and freedom when he'd shed his anonymity forever and accepted his father's throne. Still, he always knew where his next delicious meal would come from, he never needed to worry about not having shelter, he could try to make life better for everyone. Not to mention all the little perks his losses were compensated with. When you thought about it, it really wasn't bad for the son of a castle maid (or was it an Orlesian Grey Warden elven mage? He had heard rumors). And it was certainly good to be king.

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	13. Naked Landsmeet

Prompt: Naked Landsmeet

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age.

Loghain was in the middle of evilly denouncing Arl Eamon and his heartfelt appeal for basic decency and the preservation of their cherished traditions when Alistair strode into the Landsmeet. He was a little cold but took care not to shiver for fear that it would make it look like he was afraid of Loghain. He had just known that he would cause a huge scene by walking in late and he thought it would look rather unprofessional but Eamon had assured him that it was important to make an entrance and he had reluctantly agreed that he could hardly make an entrance by showing up three hours early. Anora, despite the fact she had left four hours early, didn't appear to be in the room. Alistair may not really like Cailan's wife but he did hope that nothing had happened to her. It was bad enough that she had to have a father like Loghain; she really had been through enough.

"Tell us, Warden: How _will_ the Orlesians take our nation from us? Will they deign to send their troops, or simply issue their commands through this would-be prince?" Loghain turned to face them. "What did they-" He stopped and a look of disgust crossed his face.

Alistair rather imagined that a similar look was on his own face whenever he so much as _thought_ of Loghain, never mind being face-to-face with him like he was now.

"What exactly do you think you're doing?" Loghain demanded, sounding outraged.

For once, Loghain actually appeared to be speaking to him. Was that a trick question or something? Suddenly, he wished that he had spent more time listening to Arl Eamon prepare his fellow Anastasia on what to say at the Landsmeet (he had been instructed to keep his mouth shut, accept the throne when offered, and be ready to fight). "I'm here to expose you."

"It rather looks like you're here to expose yourself," Bann Ceorlic muttered.

Alistair blinked, confused. What heinous crimes had he committed lately? Besides, of course, daring to be a member of an order that was hell bent on saving Ferelden from being completely destroyed by darkspawn despite itself.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Anora spoke out suddenly, appearing from Maker only knew where. "Arl Eamon has spoken passionately about the need to keep the Theirin bloodline alive and while I can certainly understand the weight of that symbol, I ask you to look at the boy who would be king and honestly tell me that you think that he is up for the task."

So Anora had betrayed them! Wait…was this a betrayal? She hadn't actually said anything about Loghain. But why would she turn on them without committing to Loghain's side? Having two enemies at once was a really stupid idea, even he could see that. What was going on?

"Would somebody like to explain what's going on?" Alistair demanded. Sure, he wasn't supposed to say anything but no one was telling him anything and he was sick of it.

"I think we would all like to know the answer to that," Loghain drawled. "Tell me, _Alistair_." The Teyrn said his name like it was something dirty. "Why did you feel the need to show up to our most sacred of gatherings without so much as an undergarment, especially when you remembered to put on a barbarian hat? Have you no shame?"

Alistair froze. No…it couldn't be. But he'd been so unusually cold all day. He was wearing the hat, yes, he could feel that. But if he weren't wearing anything else then why wouldn't anyone have said anything? Why would they have let him make an ass of himself? And for that matter, how could he possibly have failed to notice? He didn't want to look down but he was a Grey Warden and Eamon wanted him to become king and so he couldn't afford to shy away from anything.

Alistair had glanced down for perhaps half a second before his head quickly snapped back up. His face was burning. Everyone had a very nice view of his entire body. It was bad enough from the back but from the _front_? And it was so cold, too…

"Well?" Anora asked, looking triumphant. "Do you have an answer for that, Alistair, or are you really _that_ ill-prepared for being king? The common man off the street could tell you that it is improper to wander around without clothes on – regardless of headgear – and it's even worse somewhere important like the Landsmeet!"

"I…uh…" Alistair looked helplessly at his fellow Warden. How could he possibly explain this?

Fortunately, Anastasia Cousland was one of the most persuasive people he had ever met. Even when Alistair knew that she was just making things up, she still always managed to at least halfway convince him.

"Alistair isn't naked," she declared boldly.

Loghain snorted. "I beg to differ."

"I wish that I could be surprised that you thought so," she said sadly.

Loghain's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?" he all but growled.

"Alistair _is_ fully clothed but, well, his outfit is only the finest made by Dalish artisans," Anastasia lied. "As you may know, we spent some time with the Dalish recently as we travelled the land calling on the ancient Grey Warden treaties. We aided them in the process of doing this and they gave us that outfit as a token of their thanks."

"He's not wearing anything," Loghain grated.

Anastasia shook her head. "Oh, but he is! It's just that…well, the Dalish are a little…preoccupied about their past. From what I understand, all living Dalish are descended from noble elven families back when they had their own homeland and so all the Dalish could see Alistair's outfit just fine."

Anora started to look a little worried. "What are you saying?"

"Only someone with noble enough blood – be it elven blood, human blood, or even dwarven blood – can see the fabric," Anastasia responded. "Normally, Alistair wouldn't wear fabric that would make it appear that he was naked to commoners out in public but since this is a meeting that only nobles can attend, we rather thought it would be safe. I guess it wasn't."

"This is absurd!" Loghain said dismissively. "There is no such thing as noble-detecting fabric."

"I-I actually think that I can see it," Ceorlic inadvertently saved them. "It's so gorgeous, really."

"I see it, too," Habren Bryland cried out. "And I want one!"

One by one the nobles all claimed that they could see it and gushed over how magnificent it was. Once some among them started insisting that they were noble enough to see it, they wouldn't dare risk being dubbed as un-noble as Loghain and Anora clearly were and so it looked like Anastasia's absurd story would actually see them through this.

Suddenly, the entire place began to shake and after a moment, Alistair's eyes snapped open. He was still lying in bed and Anastasia was shaking him awake.

"Come on," she whispered. "It's time to get ready for the Landsmeet."

Alistair nodded silently as he sat up. First thing on the agenda: locate some pants.

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	14. Mother

Prompt: Mother

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age.

Note: So a Grand Cleric is just the Revered Mother with highest position in Ferelden as far as I'm concerned.

Alistair had always sort of figured that the best day of his life would be something that he would have to decide years into the future – perhaps at the end of his life – and that would require a lot of careful thought. In practice, he was twenty and hopefully nowhere near the end of his life but he still knew without a doubt that today was the best he had ever or would ever have.

It wasn't like he had had a bad life, far from it. He was a bastard whose father had no interest in him and whose mother was long dead so he could have easily just been thrown out on the streets somewhere and expected to make his own way in the world but that hadn't happened, not at all. He had spent the first ten years of his life with Arl Eamon in Redcliffe and then when Isolde became pregnant he had spent the next ten years in the Chantry training to be the world's worst templar. It was a dubious honor, to be sure, but he firmly believed that it took talent to be just _that_ horrible at being a templar. He had all the right skills, of course, he just had the wrong everything else. He wasn't reverent enough, his sense of humor offended the others, he lacked a sufficient fear of mages, he might have called the bottom of the templar uniform a skirt in the Grand Cleric's hearing…he and the Chantry really weren't a very good fit.

Today, though…today he had been told that by the Warden-Commander Duncan that he had a place among the Grey Wardens if he wanted one and while he didn't know much about the order he knew that it had to be better than this. If he fell in love with a beautiful woman one day, if he had a five children, if he was finally seen as something other than King Maric's by blow then he knew that it would all be thanks to today when he would leave the Chantry and so it couldn't possibly be greater than this day.

"Absolutely not," the Grand Cleric said flatly.

Alistair stared at her, aghast. "What? But that's not fair! I-"

Duncan put a hand on his shoulder. "Let me handle this," he said softly.

Reluctantly, Alistair nodded. Maker knew that the Grand Cleric hated him so Duncan would probably have more luck. He would have thought that the Grand Cleric would be jumping at the chance to get rid of him so why was she being so surprisingly difficult? Was she that possessive of her Chantry personnel? It wasn't like Alistair had even wanted to be here in the first place, he just had little choice as a ten-year-old whose guardian dropped him off. He hadn't signed anything, however, and he certainly hadn't made any vows.

"With all due respect, your Grace, the Grey Wardens need recruits," Duncan told her. "The darkspawn have begun to move and, though it is too soon to tell, a Blight may be coming. We have to be ready."

"Ignoring the fact that the darkspawn haven't plagued the surface in over four hundred years, I hardly see what that has to do with the matter at hand," the Grand Cleric replied curtly. "Surely you can deal with this possible Blight or incursion without Alistair."

"We could," Duncan agreed. "But if everyone said that then we would have no Wardens at all."

" 'Everyone' is not saying that," the Grand Cleric said sharply. "_I_ am and my objections must be given greater consideration than most."

"But of course," Duncan assured her. "Perhaps you could tell me why it is that you object to Alistair becoming a Grey Warden?"

"It's not the boy specifically," the Grand Cleric explained. "Maker knows what kind of a templar _he_ would be."

"Then what's the problem?" Duncan pressed. "Surely it cannot be that you did not want a member of the Chantry to become a Grey Warden as you did hold a tournament for my benefit."

"That is true," the Grand Cleric conceded. "But it's not quite the same. Unlike the others, Alistair has been right on the verge of becoming a templar for months now. He knows nearly all of our secrets and yet he hasn't taken his vows. If we were to let him go, our most sacred secrets would be at risk. The Chantry is not prepared to have all of our secrets laid out to bear."

"I can assure you that the Grey Wardens know something about the importance of secrets," Duncan was quick to tell her. "And we wouldn't dream of trying to start problems with the Chantry by publicizing any sensitive information."

"It's all well and good enough for you to _say_ that," the Grand Cleric argued. "But I hardly know you and this would be one of the biggest security breaches we've ever had. I know that I said that you could have your pick of the templars but you simply cannot have Alistair."

Alistair's heart plummeted. He had long since resigned himself to a life of misery in the Chantry but still…he had almost let himself believe that it could be different, that he could have a new life, a better life. Somehow, coming so close only to fall short at the end was so much harder than never allowing himself to believe at all.

"I'm sorry," Duncan said quietly.

Alistair simply nodded miserably, not really having anything to say.

Then Duncan continued. "Your Grace, I was hoping it wouldn't come to this."

That made her suspicious. "Wouldn't come to _what_, exactly?"

"Normally I would respect your wishes no matter what Alistair might want but there are extenuating circumstances – including this darkspawn threat – to consider and so I'm afraid that I'm going to have to invoke the Rite of Conscription. Alistair is coming with me," Duncan said firmly.

Alistair couldn't believe it. First he was going, then he wasn't, now he was going again. This emotional up-and-down couldn't possibly be good for him but at that moment he really didn't care. It was true after all! He was going to get to escape from this horrid place!

Alistair glanced back at the Grand Cleric and for a moment he thought that she was going to have Duncan arrested. Her face was white with rage and her nails were digging into her palms hard enough to draw blood.

Alistair felt terrible. He really hadn't meant to get Duncan into trouble. He opened his mouth to tell them that it was fine and that he would stay with the Chantry when the Grand Cleric spoke again.

"Promise me, Alistair, that you will not _ever_ share the secrets you've been taught or the templar skills that you have learned with anyone no matter how great you think the need is," the Grand Cleric ordered.

Alistair wasn't about to question his good fortune. "Y-yes, you Grace. Of course."

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	15. A Great Many Things Were Assumed

Prompt: 'A great many things were assumed that have not held true.'

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age.

Alistair didn't like to think of himself as a judgmental person and yet he could safely say that he knew quite a bit about assumptions.

When he was born it was assumed that he'd be a threat to Cailan's rule and so he'd be best tucked away with Cailan's mother's brother. It turned out that though his existence wasn't the _best_ kept secret, those who didn't want Cailan to rule turned to Bryce Cousland of Highever instead of the not-quite-prince. And maybe Rowan's brother wasn't the most sensible choice to send a bastard child of her husband's no matter how many years she'd be dead by the time he'd even been conceived. Not to mention that as far as secrecy went, an Arl was kind of an unlikely choice.

Living at Redcliffe, it had been assumed that he must have been Eamon's bastard for all that Eamon never admitted it. Eamon had told him the truth about Maric – despite Maric's wishes, from what he understood – the moment that he had first asked about his parentage. Because the whole point of sending Alistair to Eamon had been to keep Maric's involvement a secret, Eamon never commented on the rumors and he was never openly asked.

It had been assumed that Alistair could have a nice, happy life unburdened by royal responsibilities or the stigma of being a bastard. Alistair really had to wonder if the people making these decisions for him had ever actually spent any length of time with a child or remembered being children themselves. It was one thing if he had been an acknowledged bastard under the protection of his noble father. It was quite another if everyone thought Eamon was ashamed of him and thus wouldn't care in the slightest if he was perpetually the outcast.

It had been assumed that Eamon could be trusted to raise him until adulthood and make sure that he was ready for a commoner's life. Well…Alistair was pretty sure that that was the plan at first. Then Isolde had come into the picture and even if she didn't like him and had also firmly believed the rumors of him being her husband's bastard (for all that he clearly wasn't a favored son), Alistair still felt that the plan had remained unchanged. Then Isolde had gotten pregnant and feared that the child Eamon had sleeping in the stables and refused to acknowledge might put her own child's inheritance at risk. Ten was something, he supposed, and he would always be grateful for Eamon for taking him in for that long but it was hardly old enough to go off on his own.

It had been assumed that the Chantry would be a good life for him. The Chantry always made sure that those in its service had a place to stay and enough to eat as well as a proper education. It wasn't just the poor whose parents had died or couldn't afford them who joined the Chantry, either, but some non-inheriting nobles like Bann Alfstanna's brother. Alistair had never really just how irreverent he was until he was sent to live at a Chantry and the mandatory not-really-necessary lyrium addiction and arbitrary rules combined to ensure that he was probably better off back in the stables.

It had been assumed that the Grey Wardens were obsolete because all of the darkspawn had been killed in the last Blight or, failing that, were simply a dwarven problem. The darkspawn were _always_ a dwarven problem but Alistair had seen firsthand just how badly their first line of defense against the darkspawn was failing. If Bhelen couldn't turn Orzammar around (and given his complete and utter lack of morals, he'd better be some kind of dwarven messiah) and the city eventually fell then who would stop the darkspawn from regularly harassing the surface world even in the absence of a Blight? Oh, and speaking of…it was really hard for Alistair to see Grey Wardens as 'obsolete' when they were the only ones who could sense darkspawn, fight them safely, and kill the Archdemon. Thinking that the Grey Wardens were obsolete and acting accordingly had nearly gotten Ferelden annihilated and there were still at least two Blights to come. Hopefully the Fifth Blight would serve as a cautionary tale but Alistair knew that people had a short memory. He'd do what he could to make people remember them but he would be lucky to see it to fifty.

It was assumed that Teyrn Loghain was a great hero who loved Ferelden more than he hated Orlais. Alistair freely admitted that he didn't really understand Loghain and, to be honest, he didn't want to. He didn't agree with the king and didn't trust the Wardens so he let thousands of his own men die needlessly? What kind of monster did that? Alistair couldn't deny that Ferelden might still be an offshoot of Orlais if it weren't for him but that didn't give him a free pass on everything else. Loghain may have even loved Ferelden but nothing could eclipse his hatred of Orlais and fundamental flaw was why he couldn't see what was right in front of his face. It was why he was so dangerous and why he had to die. Sure he might have _said_ that suddenly he understood that the Grey Wardens were right and that he had surrendered but Alistair really thought that the past year had spoken for itself and the last thing he wanted was to give Loghain the chance to finally finish what he had begun at Ostagar.

It was assumed that Alistair's mother was a serving maid up at Redcliffe castle. Well…not so much assumed as outright told to Alistair. He'd even met his supposed half-sister and had been supporting her and her children since the Blight ended. By now, he was really an uncle to those children and Goldanna herself had finally deigned to be civil and that wasn't about to stop. Just the same, one day an Orlesian elven Grey Warden mage named Fiona had come into his life and, well...Even if that could never become public, Alistair did still get some perverse satisfaction over how much Loghain must be rolling over in his grave.

It had been assumed that Alistair would never be king. Really, this assumption sat just fine with him and he sometimes half-suspected that he had been purposely raised so that he would be a terrible one. Just the same, Cailan had failed to trust non-traitorous bastards, to have an heir, or to live to see his twenty-sixth birthday and Loghain had failed to both not be a traitorous bastard and to NOT drive the country to civil war in the middle of a Blight. Really, somebody had to step up and by the time the Landsmeet rolled around Alistair was feeling a lot better about his inability to do a worse job than some of the so-called leadership he'd seen.

It had been assumed that Alistair would never be able to have a child and so, despite everything, the Theirins really would end with this generation. As Alistair watched his five-year-old daughter holding her baby brother in her arms for the first time, he decided that, of all the assumptions he'd both seen disproven and actively proven false himself, this was his favorite.

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	16. Jealousy

Prompt: Jealousy

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age.

Alistair didn't know what to do. He couldn't move from that spot or else he'd surely be spotted. He had only been admiring the swords in the armory for a minute and he had even taken care to make sure that no one was in it first! Unfortunately, he had soon heard noises and since, strictly speaking, he wasn't allowed in there he hid in the large vase in the corner of the room. An armory was a rather strange place for a vase, yes, but Arl Eamon hated it and since Isolde's mother had bought it for them he couldn't get rid of it and thus tucked it reasonably out of sight in here.

Alistair couldn't see a thing unless he stuck his head up for a glance which he had when he first climbed into the vase. Ten-year-old Cailan had dragged a grinning older blonde man into the room and a slightly irritated man with shoulder-length black hair and shiny silver armor followed them in. Alistair had no idea who that second man was but the first looked enough like him that he knew that this must be King Maric. His father…sort of. If it hadn't been for this man, he wouldn't exist but Alistair had always kind of thought that being a father was about more than just that.

"This is the best room I've ever been in!" Cailan declared happily.

"Is that so?" someone asked, amused. Alistair thought that that was probably Maric since the other man didn't look at all amused. So that was what his father sounded like.

"Cailan, the armory at the palace is twice as big as this," the other man pointed out.

"Yeah but I can see that whenever I want to," Cailan argued. "You guys _never_ let me come to Redcliffe."

Maric coughed. "It's not like we're trying to keep you away from Redcliffe or anything, Cailan. We're absolutely not trying to hide anything from you, I can't believe you'd even say that-"

"What your father means," the other man cut in. "Is that since you're his only heir he can't afford to have anything happen to you and travelling is dangerous. Not to mention that Denerim is the capital and your uncles can go there to see you."

"Yes, that is absolutely what I meant," Maric agreed, sounding relieved. "Thank you, Loghain."

"Happy to help," Loghain said dryly. Alistair thought he had heard of this Loghain before. He was big in the rebellion, wasn't he? And a commoner like Alistair for all of his royal blood.

"I know all that," Cailan said, clearly trying to sound grown-up. "But that just means that when I can go places like this then their armories are much cooler even if they are smaller."

"Do me a favor and don't tell your uncle that you think his swords are better than my swords," Maric said, sounding almost pained. "He will _never_ let me hear the end of it."

"Huh?" Cailan didn't get it. Alistair didn't either.

Apparently Loghain did, however. "I am, as always, impressed by the maturity level of our most prominent citizens."

"If you want to, we can always blame the Orlesians for preventing any of us from having a real childhood," Maric offered.

"_Maric_."

"Oh, right. What was I thinking? You always want to blame the Orlesians," Maric teased.

"Father, this shield is bigger than I am!" Cailan exclaimed, sounding a bit strained.

"Don't try to pick it up!" Maric cried out. "You're going to hurt yourself! Hold on!"

"No, I've got it-" Cailan started to protest.

"It was going to crush you," Loghain disagreed.

Cailan laughed. "Imagine that: the Prince of Ferelden crushed to death by a giant shield in an armory! What would people say?"

" 'Where did his poor Father go wrong with him'?" Maric guessed.

"Why did we let this man reproduce?" Loghain ventured.

"This shield is _awesome_," Cailan announced. "And it's so shiny. I can see my face in it and everything!"

"Are you…are you playing with your hair?" Loghain sounded pained.

"No," Cailan said a little too quickly to be believed. "And even if I was…remember, you braid your hair."

Maric chuckled. "He does have you there."

"That's not _playing_ with it," Loghain protested.

"Do we believe him, Cailan?" Maric asked conspiratorially.

"Not even a little," Cailan replied.

"There you have it, Loghain. Sorry, but you've been outvoted. You _do_ play with your hair," Maric said, not sounding even vaguely sorry.

"I hate you both."

"One of these days I should really start looking into finding a new best friend," Maric mused. "Preferably one that doesn't hate me. What do you think, Cailan?"

"Good idea. Maybe we'll find one in the kitchen," Cailan suggested brightly.

"Is that your way of saying you're hungry?" Maric asked him.

"Now that you mention it, I do smell cheese…" Cailan trailed off. "Last one there is a rotten egg!"

Alistair heard the sounds of thundering footsteps receding. That was only the second time he'd ever been in the same room as Cailan (with the first being when Cailan hadn't even seemed to notice him the day before when he eagerly demanded to know where the armory was) and the first he'd ever been in a room with Maric who definitely hadn't noticed him. That was good, though. It would just be awkward for everybody and he had no idea what to say to the royalty who just happened to share his blood or the war hero he knew nothing about.

Still…seeing – or rather hearing – them sound so happy and playful…it reminded him of the other children he'd seen with their families. It wasn't like he wanted them to be miserable or anything it was just…he wanted so badly to be a part of that and he knew that he never would, never could. He wondered if this was jealousy. Even if he had hidden just so that he wouldn't be noticed, he still hated to be invisible.

Alistair judged that enough time had passed and stuck his head out of the vase. Maric and Cailan were gone but Loghain was standing in the doorway looking right at him.

"Interesting hiding place," he said simply before he too turned and walked back to that happy little family scene that a quirk of fate had decreed that he could be a part of but not Alistair. Never Alistair.

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	17. It was the hardest thing I ever did

Prompt: It was the hardest thing I ever did in my entire life.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age.

Everyone was staring at him. Everyone was always staring at him ever since he had become king and this was even more jarring considering that he had been quite pointedly ignored before somehow stumbling onto the throne.

Alistair had never been one for speeches but today was the unveiling of the far-too-big statue for the man who had died to end the Blight and so despite the fact that he would have rather slept with _Morrigan_ than be here, he had had to say a few words in the man's honor. Eamon had written his – mercifully short – speech and then Anora had insisted on proofreading it as Eamon hadn't been particularly fond of the dearly departed either.

Alistair had barely been able to force the words out but now it was all over. Wynne was looking a little sickened at the proceedings and he couldn't blame her. If he didn't know full well that he'd be lectured about it later, he wouldn't have bothered trying to keep his face impassive either.

Finally, the ordeal was over and Alistair followed his beloved wife into the carriage they were to take back to the palace.

"That," Alistair said with complete seriousness, "was horrible. In fact, I'm reasonably sure that it was the hardest thing I ever did in my entire life."

Anora gave a long-suffering sigh. "Alistair, please. It was a five-minute speech with plenty of dramatic pauses. The kindest thing you were required to say about him was that Ferelden would miss him greatly."

"And I'm still rather amazed that I didn't get struck down by the Maker after such a blatant lie," Alistair declared.

"I'd say given the crowd we saw today, Ferelden _will_ miss my father even if you happen to disagree with their opinion," Anora argued. "Why must you be so difficult about this?"

"Why did _you_ make me have to say vaguely nice things about him?" Alistair countered.

"Because if I hadn't then the people might have thought that you weren't honoring our hero's sacrifice," Anora explained patiently.

"I'm _not_," Alistair said flatly.

"You don't have to prove it," Anora sniffed. "Now, as difficult as I'm sure this was for you it is quite over now so-"

"It's not really over," Alistair interrupted. "I will have to carry the memories of this terrible day with me for the rest of my days and I'm sure that it will haunt my dreams as well."

"Don't you think you're overreacting just a little?" Anora asked skeptically.

Alistair considered it for a second. "No, I do not," he decided.

"You basically described how horrible the Blight was, how desperate we all were, mentioned that my father killed the Archdemon, and said that the people would miss him," Anora pointed out. "That's hardly glowing praise."

"As a warrior who knows exactly what it feels like to be stabbed, I feel obligated to inform you that every word I said felt like I was being impaled," Alistair replied.

"And you're absolutely certain that you're not overreacting?" Anora inquired.

"Positive," Alistair confirmed. "And that statue is just so _big_, too. Did you have to put it above the Orlesian Embassy? The Orlesian Ambassador looked like he was going to wet himself."

"It's what my father would have wanted," Anora said virtuously. "Actually…I remember that he and King Maric were talking one time. Maric was complaining about having a new statue of him crop up every time he turned around and then he asked my father what he would think about a statue of him. He said that he honestly couldn't care less and then Maric joked that the one statue of him he'd actually like would be right where our new one is because that way he could always keep an eye on the Orlesians. My father replied that somebody had to."

"I'm not surprised," Alistair muttered. "Of course, it's taller than most buildings so I'm afraid that I'll need to avoid that part of the city for about…forever."

"Just so you won't have to see my father's statue?" Anora demanded.

"Just so I won't have to see your father's statue," Alistair agreed.

There was a pause. "And you're _sure-_"

"Yes," Alistair cut her off again. "I still don't feel that I'm overreacting. Why do you keep asking that?"

"No reason," Anora claimed. "I do hope you have some time this afternoon because we need to go over the budget."

Alistair shook his head. "We'll need to postpone that, I'm afraid."

"Why?" Anora inquired. "What will you be doing today?"

"I was just forced to listen to nice things being said about your father for two hours and actually had to contribute at one point. I am going straight to bed," Alistair declared, secure in the knowledge that he was being the bigger man here and absolutely not overreacting in the slightest no matter what Anora thought.

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